


Mother's Intuition

by MarigoldVance



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Erebor Wasn't Destroyed, Dis Is The Best Mum, Girion Is Somehow Hanging On To Life, He's Likely So Ancient, M/M, Prompt Fill, She's Also Ruthless AF, WinterFRE2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:01:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22335985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarigoldVance/pseuds/MarigoldVance
Summary: Dís feels forced to act when she happens upon her sons'more than brotherlyrelationship.
Relationships: Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 49
Collections: GatheringFiKi - Winter FRE 2020





	Mother's Intuition

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt: " _182\. Dís discovered about Fíli and Kíli relationships_ "

A cold burn speared through her, making her hands shake and vision blur. Dís couldn’t decipher if it was rage or sorrow that threatened to swallow her heart and leave her dead where she stood. She felt the pressure and sting of tears in her eyes, angry wet beads spilling down her cheeks against her will as she watched her world topple on its axis.

Here, her life would end …

—

“What in Mahal’s name do you think you’re doing!?” Lady Dís snarled as she stormed forward, all grit and hurricane fury. Her arms flailed and her face reddened as she less-than-kindly explained, “I said it goes in the _center_!? Does this bloody _look_ like the center of _anything_!?”

The Dwarves paled under the barrage of commands and condescension, crumpling further under the weight of the arbor they’d been unsuccessfully trying to place for far too long. Each held a foot, the wood and iron swaying in their grip as they – once again – followed Dís’ finger and hoped to every God believed to exist the span of Arda that this was the final time they’d have to do this. Their arms were sore and their spirits were hammered thin under the heavy strokes of Dís’ perfectionism.

Her sons just _had_ to go and discover their Ones in each other …

It was for this reason that Dís had rallied to organize a wedding. Their union had to be announced and displayed before the Dwarves of Erebor so all would know, lest some daft princess’ father try and conspire an ‘ _unexpected_ ’ meeting between his daughter and Fíli for the hundredth time.

Dís couldn’t stand the thought of her beautiful, golden son being rubbed against by another girl tainted with indecency. There had been too many to count. And her sweet, reckless babe fared no better: Kíli drew everyone in like a flame so Dís wasn’t surprised that he’d been accosted on several occasions by Dáin’s visiting courtesans.

They were all very pretty – blushing and sturdy – but Dís could tell her boys had no interest in anyone outside of themselves. At first, Dís didn’t understand. But a mother _always knew_ when something was going on, no matter how hard her children tried to cast an illusion of innocence.

She didn’t _spy_. Mothers didn’t need to.

Nor did her sons come forward and admit their affair which pissed Dís off more than having had to stumble upon them in a compromising position in the shadows of the thermae. So, really, they’d left her no choice but to hustle through preparations that normally took weeks of careful consideration.

If her charm and sweetness suffered, it was entirely the fault of Fíli and Kíli for not simply coming forward and being honest. Now Dís was obliged to pull off a magnificent affair in under two days with only the resources Erebor had at its disposal. There wasn’t time to import flowers from the Greenwood nor the exotic fruits and spices usually gifted by the Haradrim for such occasions. She wailed internally as she thought about how bland the wedding feast would be without them.

Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, Dís banished those negative thoughts. She would make do. She was clever and adaptable and driven by a mother’s determination; there was nothing in Arda that she couldn’t accomplish for her sons, regardless of how she had to go about accomplishing it.

“Frerin!” Dís called when she saw her brother peeking over the balcony above the Great Hall. He visibly gulped and waved a shy hand. “Where are the musicians!?” His eyes shifted to the side along with his feet. He looked like a thief caught by the Dwarf to who they owed money.

“They’re … indisposed, dear sister. Apparently some of Razzeg’s folk arrived early and …” Frerin rolled a hand, the gesture meant to connect the dots which only served to confuse Dís further and spike the stress she’d been feeling since midmorning when the cooks gave her the list of ingredients they needed from Dale (“ _[…] Or the whole feast will be ruined … **M’lady**._”) Bastard.

“Insufferable Blacklocks.” Dís cursed under her breath, clenching her fists in an effort to rein in her temper. It was Razzeg and his kin who forced Dís’ hand with the impromptu wedding ceremony. Razzeg had been barking about formally uniting their kingdoms and wasn’t in the business of backing down from an idea he deemed prosperous for all involved. Razzeg merely wanted unfettered access to Erebor’s mines; there wasn’t anything in the deal that would benefit Erebor except for the adoption of Razzeg’s unquestionably dim third daughter. Also, the misery Fíli would be inflicted with for the remainder of his days if Dís didn’t rid him of her in the form of an _accident_.

Dís couldn’t stand that girl.

“Fine.” She shouted, “Hurry into Dale and ask Lord Girion if he has any he would be willing to lend.” Frerin smiled weakly, taking his cue to leave with a mock salute and a company of six Dwarves Dís hoped she could spare. “ _And don’t take no for an answer_!” She called after them.

“M’Lady – ”

Dís turned a sharp glare toward a ramshackle of a Dwarf who held up two pieces of flatware, one silver and delicately embellished; the other gold-plated and more masculine in design. Dís raised an eyebrow and the Dwarf quickly comprehended.

“Of course, M’Lady, no need to bother you with such trivial matters. Please, forgive the interruption.” He backed away in a low bow until he was as far as decorum demanded. He straightened and scurried away.

Dís rolled her eyes skyward and prayed for patience, collapsing into a seat not yet tucked under one of the partially dressed dining tables. She slipped her shoes from her feet with her toes and tried to rub the tension from her brow, sat like a woman does after too much drink: loose and undignified. Dís didn’t care for propriety in that moment as another thought came barrelling to the fore: Her sons had yet to be told.

“Balin.” She sighed when the Dwarf in question appeared behind her like some sort of all-knowing phantom. He was always exactly where she needed him to be. He placed a supportive hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Would you do me the favor of telling my boys they are to be married as soon as Razzeg and his idiots march through the gates?”

Balin chuckled, a heartfelt, grandfatherly sound that calmed Dís’ overdriven mind. He squeezed her shoulder again and said, “Of course, child. But are you sure this is for the best?”

“Balin,” Dís said firmly, still looking ahead at the disaster she was hoping would come together soon – wrinkled fabric and unarranged local flora and an arbor that _still wasn’t centered_ – “You didn’t catch them with their cocks out at midday. Those boys love each other more deeply than I ever loved their father. Deeper than my father ever loved his wife. It will be a nice change to, for once, see love – honest, true love – rule Durin’s folk. Don’t you think so?”

“Aye.” Dís could hear the gentle smile in Balin’s voice. “Though … ”

“Though? If you’re about to tell me that I should’ve given them time to absorb the idea of getting handfasted without their input then, please, by all means, do so. Then we can watch as Razzeg gets his way and we’re suddenly in possession of that horrible girl – Khesdorra or what’s it – and Fíli slowly withers away from heartbreak.”

Balin snickered, “Rather dramatic.”

“Rather _true_ , you mean. Father leaves Council increasingly irritated whenever Razzeg’s man attends. I can see from his expression that Father will soon buckle to Razzeg’s demand simply to shut him up. It’s only a matter of _days_ , if Razzeg himself is _here_ and presses the issue.” Dís finally turned to impress the gravity of the situation on Balin, eyes alight with a mother’s protective ferocity. “I love my boys too much to let that balding bastard win.”

“And your father. The king? What will he think?”

Dís grinned, eyes narrowing wickedly. “Father still has two bachelor sons to auction off if he’s so desperate for a union between Durin and Blacklock.”

Balin hummed in consideration. “True. That explains why Frerin has been looking wet with nerves since this morning.”

“Mm, finally realized what fate might have in store.” Dís cackled. After a long, blessfully quiet moment, she waved a hand in dismissal, face telling of her exhaustion, and ordered, “Now go. I need my sons up and aware. They have until dawn to voice their grievances.” Then she added to herself, “Which will all go ignored.”

Balin bowed and spun around, exiting the Great Hall, taking with him all of Dís’ calm. The same tweaky Dwarf from earlier approached, half hunched over, fear contorting his face into something that immediately annoyed Dís.

“What?” She barked, pre-emptively angry.

“M’Lady’s choice of dinnerware?”

Dís’ head fell back, exasperated. She ignored the fellow until he interpreted the message she didn’t have the energy to speak and scrambled himself back to wherever he’d come from.

This was for her sons, she reminded herself. The two most precious gems in all of Arda who she’d had the grace and privilege of bringing into the world. Her cramping feet and strained mind were worth their happiness –

“ **Amad!?** ”

\- or perhaps Dís _could_ live without their forgiveness and love until her return to the stone because if they so much as _hinted_ atan argument she felt perfectly justified in handing Fíli off to Razzeg’s cockeyed daughter for the sake of her sanity.

She felt the tide of their energy before they even entered the Hall, tumbling over words she couldn’t discern and each other’s limbs. They marched toward her, hands moving and hair everywhere (and, Mahal, she didn’t want to even scratch the surface of why they looked so disheveled). Dís rose, stuffing her swollen feet back into her shoes and arranging herself regally before them.

They reached her in seconds, eyes traveling around the Hall before landing on her, their expressions giving nothing away. And then, both Fíli and Kíli’s mouths split into wide, excited grins. Kíli grabbed Dís around the waist and lifted her into a jovial spin, blessing her for everything he could think of including birdsong and sunrise. When he was finished, Fíli pulled her into an unceremonious embrace, rough and rugged and every bit as perfect as Fíli himself.

“Amad,” Kíli said, laughter in his eyes, “ _Thank you_!”

Dís smoothed down her skirts and heaved a wary sigh. “You boys are going to be the death of me.” But she couldn’t help the fondness that seeped into her tone as she spoke. “So, you aren’t furious?”

Kíli shook his head, “No, quite the opposite. We would’ve come to you sooner if we’d known you’d be so … ”

“Receptive.” Fíli finished for him. He curled somewhat into himself when he continued, “We’re curious, Amad. How _did_ you discover us?”

Dís’ gaze fell between them as if she watched the scene unfold all over again. She coughed, a futile attempt to regain her composure. “How about you agree to – ahem – show your _affection_ for one another in more _private_ areas of the kingdom, hm?”

Fíli and Kíli blanched.

“Come now,” She clapped twice, snapping them to attention. “We have a ceremony to prepare for and you have a grandfather to convince.”

Kíli groaned, deflating, and Dís knew he would try and work her with flattery. “Couldn’t you do it? You know all the proper things to say.”

Dís’ smile had an edge that Kíli was right to be worried about when she stated, very matter-of-factly, “I did everything I had to do the moment I saw you with your brother’s cock in your mouth.”

Fíli choked.

“So.” Dís’ smile tightened, and her teeth clenched, “Go explain this to your grandfather and I won’t sit Fíli beside Khesdorra during the feast. I’m sure the little beast won’t even realize _why_ the feast is being held … ”

They flung themselves through the doors, her threat doing its job to spur them into confession. They would appeal to their grandfather and he would howl for a few moments before resigning himself to their shared feelings. A romantic lived beneath the austere, iron-fisted layers Thráin put on for his people, Dís had no doubt. He may have sold her to the highest bidder, but he had an undeniable soft spot for his grandsons.

Dís’ thoughts were once again interrupted when the same irritating Dwarf returned. He cleared his throat to gain her attention. “M’La—”

Dís dismissed him with a fist to the face and the clatter of the two chalices he’d been holding. 

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  _i don't know why but i imagined the Cook Dwarf having a French accent ... don't ask. i just felt compelled to share ..._   
> 


End file.
